Dirty Little Secret
by NinjaMatty
Summary: CartmanStan - I wanted to be the reason he cried. I wanted to be the reason he hated life. I wanted to be the reason he wanted to put an end to his misery. I wanted to see crimson blood mar his flawless white skin. M for language and suggestive themes.


**Dirty Little Secret**

Matty MacGregor Devory

March 2008

_A/N: I... don't really know where this came from.__ It's probably this drawing's fault ! __(go to my profile to see it)__ D=_

_Cartman x Stan because there aren't enough about them !_

_It's kinda... weird__ and PWP. Wow, I scared myself when I wrote that. I didn't know I could be that evil. I hope the characters aren't too OOC. I can't stand Cartman being OOC._

_Please keep in mind while reading that E__nglish is not my first language and that nobody betareaded this._

_Thanks._

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I do not remember when I started to look at him differently. I think it was about a year and a half ago. It was probably around that time when he decided he was emo. When he decided to wear tight pants that would show off his nice ass.

I never really thought of him being attractive. Sure, a lot of girls wanted to go out with him. They wanted his attention because he was cute, nice, caring. I hated the fact that he was caring. The way he would cry before a dead bird made me sick. The way he took care of his stupid aging dog made me want to kick the animal in the guts to make it whine. After, I realised that I would prefer to kick him to make him whine rather than his dog. Yes, I was sick like that. I liked pain. I liked it when people submitted to me. I liked it when people begged.

That is why I used to like Kyle. That Jewish little piece of shit. He was so annoying with his gay little speeches that it made me want to punch him. I did not only want to beat the shit out of him; I wanted to destroy him, to kill him to achieve my own little level of satisfaction. He was so easy to manipulate. All I had to do was pretend to care and be nice. He would do anything in the name of "friendship". That is why he did not tell on me when I beat him. I had grown taller and stronger than him over the past few years so it had not been hard to make him bleed. Seeing blood all over his pretty face had made me hard. Harder than I have ever been. I would have never imagined that Kyle could have that kind of effect on me. If he had not been that wounded, laying in a pool of his blood, I would have probably raped him. But I did not. I was such a _good_ friend. After that episode, he forgave me because I told him I was sorry. I told him that I did it because I was frustated and that I needed help. I made up a nice little lie that he bought up without a second thought. He said that he would help me. He never told anybody that it was me who sent him to the hospital. He said that it was some punks at Stark's Pond. His mother, being the bitch she was, decided to investigate. She had suspicions that it was me because I was famous for my hate towards Jews, but the redhead conviced her that she was wrong. The old pig stopped asking questions. Later on, she met with two boys who looked like his son's "agressors" and sent them to jail without a lot of evidences. Two innocent people were now behind the bars because of me. If I had been a normal person with a heart, I would probably have feel guilty. But I was proud. I like the feeling of having power. I wanted more power. I had power over Kyle, but it was not enough.

Having power over Kenny was not hard. The poor little piece of shit was so poor that he would do anything for money. And I had plenty of money. I did not have a job, but my mother gave me 100 a week if I made my bed. After some negociation, I earned 200 for making my bed _and_ being polite. So, Kenny did anything I wanted. Of course, he was a bit more careful than Kyle and I never had the chance to beat him, but I was satisfied with what I could to do him.

Butters was the biggest shit of them all. He was so stupid. He was like a dog. I kicked him and he came back to me anyway. He would do anything to please me. I would have been stupid to say no ! He never asked a question when I took him to the school's unused bathroom and told him to take off his pants. He seemed quite happy to do so ; because it made me _happy_. It did not make me happy. I was horny and he was the only one I could have sex with without too much trouble. So it kind of became a habit. Each time I would be horny, I'd go to Butters and fuck him in the school's bathroom. The thrill of being caught was even more arousing. The dumb blonde never asked why I did that, or why I refused to have sex with him elsewhere. He did not seem to fully understand his situation, which was a good advantage for me. He was a bit boring because he was not really a challenge, but it was okay for the moment. _He_ was not my goal.

_Stan Marsh_ was my ultimate goal. Why him ? I could not tell. It was a mix of a lot of things. First of all, he was hot. _Really_ hot. He had soft black hair that fell loosely on his forehead. The tips of his bangs brushed soflty over his light blue eyes. The contrast of pitch black hair with pale blue eyes was stunning. It did not look real. His hair was not dark brown, it was the kind of black that turned blue under the sun. His white skin was flawless. The black eyeliner he wore made his skin looked even paler and his eyes even more blue. To some it looked faggy, but I thought it looked awesome on him. Of course, I would never voice that aloud. I did not want to look _faggy_. He was the fag after all. Everybody at school called him a fag because he came out of the closet earlier this year. I had known _for years_ that he was a queer. It was not hard to see. Since Wendy broke up with him for the last time in grade six, I knew Stan would end up being gay. Turned out I was right ; once again.

When I learned that my black haired victim was a queer, I thought it would be easy to get into his pants. The guys at school loathed him because of his sexual preference, so he could never go out with any of them. That did not stop him from falling in love though. With his ennemy. With Craig, that _asshole_. I have never liked him. I have always hated him. With all the people in South Park, Stan had to fall in love with _him_. Craig could not care less about Stan, which made the emo kid sad. And I hate whiny people. Seing Stan cry made me want to fuck him. He looked so pretty with tears rolling down his cheeks, ruining his eyeliner and making his beautiful eyes shiny. And God, he cried _so_ often and over so little and futile things. I wanted to be the reason he cried. I wanted to be the reason he hated life. I wanted to be the reason he wanted to put an end to his misery. I wanted to see crimson blood mar his flawless white skin. I wanted to fuck him so I could stop jacking off each night because of him.

I was such a _good_ friend. I _cared_ so much about my friends. I never wanted them to be sad. I wanted them to be happy. Yeah, right. You guys are so stupid. We have grown up together and still, you don't know me. You all think I can be a good person when I want to. You all think I have changed. You are sure that my actions are pure, that there are no bad intentions behind them. Well, you are blind so why don't you tear out your eyes ? I am not a good person and I will never be. If I am nice, it is fake and it is because I want something. It is _never_ genuine. You all are so easy to fool. One smile and I can get you do anything I want. I am such a good manipulator that I even surprise myself sometimes.

Stan did not even suspect that something was wrong when I invinted him to a sleepover. He seemed even more down that usually, so I took my nicest voice and suggested that he could come at my home after school. He seemed a bit surprised at first and I was scared that he might refuse, but he finally accepted without asking a question. It had been too easy.

We went to bed at around ten o'clock because it was a school night. It had been so painful to sit on the couch, playing video games when I knew what was coming. My attention was more focused on him than on the screen before me. He looked lovely, wearing only a black AFI tshirt and black boxers. He had no hairs on his legs, which turned me on even more. He was such a _fag_. He was so _hot_, holding the Xbox controller and looking all innocent. I was positive that no one had touched him before me. I would be the first to lay a hand on this piece of art. Fuck.

Stan had agreed to sleep with me in my bed. There was nothing wrong with that, because it happened very often when we were young. The only problem now was that we were no longer young. He turned eighteen last month and I would turn eighteen in a couple of days. Claiming Stan would be my perfect birthday present. From me to me with love. Heh.

It was hard to keep myself from jumping him right after I turned off the light. But I had to wait. Just a little bit. I wanted him to start feeling asleep, letting his guard down. I could not take the risk to scare him and make him scream bloody murder. That would wake up my mother and everything would be ruined. I know she could close her eyes on a lot of things, but I do not think she would let me get away with rape. Or murder. Though I could not kill Stan in _my_ bed. That would make me the first suspect. Heh.

After a few minutes, his breathing started to slow. He was falling asleep. In the half-light, I could distinguish his features. He was so breathtaking. Everyhing about him was just perfect. Eyelashes low, soft curve of rosy lips parted to show white teeth, black hair laying over the white pillow... That was _too_ fucking much.

I hold my breath. Yes. It was about time.

Trying not to shake too much from excitement, I reached out to touch him. My hand fell on his hip. God, he was so thin. My touch made him stir a bit. I stopped moving, not wanting to wake him up. But his eyes remained closed. Good, he was still asleep. Getting closer to him, I could feel his bodyheat. I got even harder. My hand went from his hip to his ass. It felt perfect in my grip. My breath quickened. If only now I could get rid of those annoying boxers...

"What are you doing ?" His voice shook me out of my reverie. I did not expect him to wake up that easily. Maybe he had not been fully asleep after all. Contrary to all expectations, he did not jerk away. He remained calm, his eyes fixed on mine.Something seemed really wrong at the moment.

"Are you trying to rape me ?" The question was asked in a flat tone, like he was only asking about the weather. I had to admit that it scared me. I never _imagined_ that he could react that way. I thought he would have screamed or cried or fight back but not looked so... indifferent. Since I had not planed that, I did not really know how to act. Maybe I should just make him shut up and end up what I started. But something stopped me from doing that. Something in his eyes...

He looked away. His cheeks turned light pink. "I... had already been raped... I knew this would happen again someday..."

It was like a fucking slap in the face. I first thought that I did not hear right, but his expression told me otherwise. He looked ashamed. "What ? What did you say ? When ?" My voice sounded alien. It sounded weak, and I hated that.

He seemed to debate about answering my question or not. I could tell he did not like this topic at all. "Six months ago... Nobody knows... Please Cartman, don't tell anybody about this okay ? I don't want my parents to know..." His voice was only a whisper. I could tell he was about to cry.

God, he was suffering. I could tell, only by looking at his eyes. "Who did that to you ?" To tell the truth, I could not care less. I only wanted him to look even more ashamed. I had to fight back a smirk.

Stan bit his lip and looked away. "Someone. You don't know him. Forget about that. Do whatever you want to me, I don't care."

I did not like that. I did not want him to be apathetic. I wanted him to fight, to punch, to bite, to kick. I wanted a challenge. A real one.

And then, it hit me right in the face. _I would not be his first. _Somebody already possessed him. Some asshole took what I wanted to be mine.

Hate started to boil inside me. Hate, not toward the guy who hurt my "friend", hate toward the black-haired teen that was sobbing in my bed. If he had spoken about what happened to him, he would not be here. I would not have been turned on at the mere thought of touching him. I felt stupid and humiliated. I had spent the last months planning this moment. I gritted my teeth together. "I will tell everybody, Stan. Tomorrow, all school's gonna know that you are a good-for-nothing little slut."

His eyes widened and I almost could hear his heart shattered. This time, I could not hide my satisfied smirk.

Nobody messes with me. Nobody messes with my plans. Nobody makes a fool of me.

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D Hope you liked it !


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